Always in the Dark
by Kid Blink's Girl
Summary: What was Alice's life like before she met up with her fated love, Jasper, and the Cullens? Allow me to illuminate a story so long overwhelmed in darkness.Please review!
1. The Birth

**This is my first fanfic, so be kind! I think it'll develop beautifully, and I hope everyone enjoys it! More to come very, very soon.**

The night was warm and humid. Rain fell steadily while flashes of lightning were seen off in the distance, and the thunder roared some miles away. In the neat houses that lined the streets of Biloxi, Mississippi, people threw the blankets off their beds as they tossed and turned, restless in the heat. A sort of stupor had blanketed the town, bringing with it an unnatural quiet.

Then a piercing scream rent the air. Out of a three story, white washed house, a young girl ran, her apron flapping wildly in the wind. Down the street she sprinted, until she reached the brick house on the corner. "Dr. Jameson! Oh, Dr. Jameson, please!" she yelled, her tone desperate, as she pounded on the old oak door. She didn't wait long before a man in a dressing gown and night cap answered the door.

"What's this? It's near midnight, girl! What's going on?" the doctor pressed, worried by the frenzied air the maid was issuing.

"Mrs. Brandon's havin' her baby, Doctor. There's blood everywhere, sir. Mr. Brandon told me to run for you as quick as I could sir. Please hurry, sir! I'm worried, Doctor, for Mrs. Brandon. I reckon it's awful early. You must come right away, sir! Right away!" the maid panted, as she struggled to regain her composure. Her hair dripped and she shivered in the wind.

The doctor helped the young girl inside. "Yes, yes, my dear. Anna, isn't it? You just try and relax, while I go dress myself. Helen will get you some tea, if you'll just head over to the kitchen. That's a girl!" And with that, the Doctor hurried up the stairs, taking them two at a time, to quickly dress himself. _Already?_ he thought, _She's only six and a half months along!_

Within a matter of minutes the Doctor was back downstairs; hair combed and finely dressed. Without disturbing the distraught maid, he grabbed his bag of medical supplies and flew out the door. Faster than the maid, he was back at the white house within minutes. Even before he entered, he could hear the heart wrenching cries of the Mrs. Brandon. He didn't bother knocking; the situation was far too dire for niceties to stand. He threw open the front door and ran past the frantic servants pacing through the entranceway. He could smell the rust-like odor of blood, and the screams of pain were even louder inside. He grabbed the nearest servant, a middle aged man with a shiny pate and overly large nose by the arm. "Where is Mrs. Brandon?" he demanded.

The man, most likely the butler, pointed up stairs and said, "Second door on the left," The doctor nodded and preceded to run up the stairs, hat and coat still on.

Outside the door, Mrs. Brandon's husband paced swiftly to and fro. Upon seeing the doctor, Brandon stopped in his tracks and exclaimed, "Doctor, please. Help her! There's so much blood. The midwife won't let me in. Please, sir. Save her, and save our child!"

The doctor gazed fondly at the man. Mr. Brandon stood tall at six feet, and his once black hair was now streaked with gray. The crinkles around his eyes showed how often the man had smiled, but now those dark brown eyes looked hollow, and the dark shadows under them denoted how distressed he was. His usual rigid posture was gone as he leaned, exhausted, against the door frame. The doctor sighed, "Come, sir. From what I have heard, this is going to be a very dangerous delivery, and I wouldn't bar you from the room for anything. Your wife is going to need you now."

And with that, both men strode into the room. The scene was worse that the Doctor had imagined. On the middle of the large, four post bed, lay Mrs. Brandon, her long strawberry blonde hair loose, flowing around her, and sticking to her face with sweat. The blanket she laid on was drenched in blood, and her nightgown clung to her sweaty body. Her face was scrunched up with pain, but at the sound of the opening door, her frantic sea green eyes opened. "Nicholas!" she gasped as she saw her husband making his way towards her.

"Oh, my love!" he cried as he grasped her cold and clammy hand. She smiled at him for a second before another wave of contractions washed over her. Her grip tightened and she let out another long cry.

The doctor, meanwhile, had gotten down to business, probing and examining the poor woman. He was deeply concerned by the amount of blood loss; it couldn't bode well for the baby or the mother. Still, he'd try his best. He could see the top of the head now, it wouldn't be long.

"Okay, Elizabeth," he called, using her first name, "you're going to need to push real hard. You can do it, it's almost over."

Elizabeth heard the words and pushed as hard as she could, arching her back in the process. Again and again she pushed until she felt a relief of pressure and a gush of fluid. She collapsed back into the bed, letting out a long sigh of exhaustion as she did.

"Oh, it's a girl!" the doctor announced, and her mind cried out in delight. Her own daughter! But something didn't seem right. "Why isn't she crying?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"I'm not sure, Mrs. Brandon," the doctor answered, "but she's breathing fine, and she's got a normal pulse. She's very small, but that's to be expected when they are this early. There may be a chance of some brain damage, but it's unlikely. What are you going to call her?"

"Alice…Mary Alice," the exhausted woman managed to get out. Then she lost consciousness and knew no more.

Two days later, Elizabeth woke to find herself in the guest room, dressed in a clean nightgown. The sun was shining through the curtains onto the green quilt under which she lay. Yawning, she stretched herself out. A sudden pain in her stomach reminded her of what had happened. "Mary!" she gasped.

Gingerly she put both feet on the floor, wary of anymore sudden pain. None came, so she rose and made her way out of the room. "Nicholas?" she called out; there was no answer. Quietly, she made her way down the hall, towards the nursery they had outfitted before the arrival of the baby. The room was next to their own, and there was an adjoining room for the nanny to live in. Once she had reached the whitewashed door, she lifted a trembling hand towards the doorknob. She still didn't know if little Mary had survived or not, or even what she looked like. She centered herself, and opened the door.

The windows were open, and the nanny, a stout, elderly woman, was sitting in the rocking chair, holding a little bundle of blankets. Elizabeth's heart leapt for joy; Mary had lived! "Oh, let me hold my baby!" she called out to the nurse as she rushed towards the chair, her nightgown flowing around her.

The nurse made a sort of startled grunt as she found the baby she had been holding snatched from her arms. "Yes ma'am," she stated as she rose from the chair and exited the room.

Elizabeth gazed for the first time at the face of her brand new baby girl. She was, as the doctor had said, exceptionally small. Elizabeth could hold her easily in two hands. She had her father's dark hair, that's for sure. It lay straight against her pink forehead. As for her eyes, Elizabeth couldn't tell, for the baby had yet to open her eyes. She gently ran a finger over the baby's cheek, and cooed little love words at her. _This is my daughter, my pride and joy. I'll always love you, little one._ Mary's hand found Elizabeth's finger, and she held on tight. Elizabeth raised her daughter up so she could kiss her forehead, and as she did, Mary opened her eyes for the first time.

They were a startling blue, and the irises were so big, you could barely see any white. It was as if someone had removed the newborn's eyes and replaced them with sapphires. Elizabeth was captivated. In her daughter's eyes, it seemed she saw the world. The depth in them, these eyes of Mary's, was unbelievable. And suddenly, Elizabeth was afraid. She no longer felt warm when she looked at her daughter. She didn't feel any love for her at all. She felt nothing. And she knew what she would see in Mary's eyes every day would stop Elizabeth from loving her. She placed the baby back into her bassinette, and ran out of the room.


	2. The Present, The Promise, The Prediction

From the very beginning of the child's life, Elizabeth knew something wasn't quite right. What that something was, she couldn't quite put her finger on. All she knew was that the small girl's large doe eyes and quiet countenance put her on edge. Mary's small frame, hunched over her dolls and toys, was always stiff, and her voice, high and clear as a bell, left one uneasy.

Sometimes her mother would address Mary while they were sitting side by side, and Mary would seem not to hear. A blank look would come over those wise eyes, her mouth would fall slack, and she would drop anything she held. There was no talking to her until this trance was broken, and afterwards, she would always be scared out of her wits, shaking like a frightened dog and whimpering quietly. Elizabeth didn't know what she disliked more; the episodes, or the fact that Mary Alice had never once asked for her mother in the aftershock. Still, why should it bother her? Elizabeth felt no love for the girl; because of her she would never be able to have another child, the doctor had said. No son to carry on the Brandon name, no normal daughter to cuddle and dress up like a little doll.

No; no other children would come to Elizabeth, the doctor had reluctantly assured her. It seemed the beautiful Elizabeth and her doting Nicholas were cursed to only have this quiet, changeling-like girl; this timid child who flinched as if expecting a blow whenever anyone approached her.

It was seven years to the day Elizabeth had brought this blight into the world. She held back a strangled laugh. April 1st; April Fools, how fitting. God, it seemed, had played a cruel prank on her. And now, her husband insisted on throwing a party for little Mary. He'd invited all his friends from his business, and they were bringing their children along. "What is the point?" she had asked him, "All the children are afraid of her, anyway."

He'd just repeated the same thing he always said whenever she brought up Mary's unusualness: "Now, don't start that nonsense again. It doesn't matter if she's a little… strange; she's still our daughter and it's our duty to stand by her. Because we love her, if nothing else."

_Not me_, she had thought, _I'll never love her. I never _could_ love her, even if I tried. _She had tried; oh dear God, yes, she had. She'd bought Mary little outfits and toys. She'd try and brush the silky black hair, but Mary would always struggle with her, until Elizabeth let go and Mary would totter away to be by herself, leaving Elizabeth even more irritated with her.

"What's the good of having a child if you can't enjoy them?" she'd asked herself many a time, though she'd never had the courage to confide in anyone besides herself. To admit that she didn't love her child, that her child wasn't _normal_? That was completely out of the question. She'd be shamed, her husband would be looked down on at work, and her daughter would never have a normal place in society.

Not that she much cared what happened to Mary at the moment; she was too irritated with having to put on a loving mother façade for their guests_. It was a little humorous_; she had thought, _that so many people have turned out to a birthday party being held for someone they are afraid of. _ Still, it was a reason to dress up in all her finery. In a mint green dress trimmed with white lace, her strawberry hair up in a white net under a wide brimmed hat, Elizabeth was definitely the most beautiful woman there, and in that fact she found comfort.

The men had retired to have brandy, cigars, and talk of business in the drawing room. The women had gone to the sitting room for refreshments of tea, cucumber sandwiches and small talk. Elizabeth knew everyone there, if vaguely, and she was on relatively good terms with all.

Yet, uncomfortable questions will always arise. "How is Mary doing lately, Elizabeth?" the perky blonde wife of one of her husband's lesser asked. Her face looked innocent enough, but Elizabeth knew she was reveling in her two light haired, pink cheeked children she herself would never have. Yet, all the same she cleared her throat and prepared to answer.

"Oh, she's fine. She's going through a stage, I think. She likes her space. Considering how early she came, she's getting to be quite big."

A large, boisterous woman with red cheeks and a rough voice let out a short laugh. "Oh yes, she's quite big. Ha! My Charles was as big as her when he was two. The girl is six years old and she looks like a toddler. Why, I've never even heard her speak. Has she even learned to do that, yet?"

Elizabeth blushed suddenly, but then quickly composed herself. No need to let these women, these preening peacocks, know that Mary rarely even talked to her mother. "Oh, yes. She can be quite talkative. We usually can't get her to stop! It's just that she's shy around people she doesn't know." There! Would that satisfy these insufferable women?

Anxious to change the subject, Elizabeth turned back to the women and stated, "I'd like to thank you all for the gifts you've brought. I'm sure Mary will love them all, once she's opened them."

The heavy woman started up once again; "Oh, no need, no need. It's only a little china doll, after all. But my Charles picked it out especially for Mary, and so I certainly do hope she likes it. It's nice to know you can count on your child saying thank you, Elizabeth. You've raised her well. Some children today don't have any manners at all, I'll tell you…" The woman continued rambling. It sounded like a compliment, but she knew it wasn't. She was known for her long winded tirades on anything one could think of, so all the other women braced themselves for at least fifteen minutes on the youth of today.

Then a child's cry split through the air. The heavy woman immediately stopped her speech, and her head whipped around like a hunting dog at the sound. "That's my Charles!" she huffed as she quickly hauled herself to her feet. All the other women followed suit and together they made their way to the nursery, where the children had been playing.

Again and again the same thought ran through Elizabeth's mind; _what has she done now?_

That Charles was a beefy kid, there was no doubt that his mother fed him anytime he was the least bit hungry. If her Mary was behind the commotion, which Elizabeth had no doubt she was, it couldn't have been something physical. Had she frightened him? Mary may be small, and she'd never been confrontational, but that didn't mean Elizabeth would put anything past her.

She didn't have much time to think about what she should say or do, if the situation called, before they reached the door to the playroom. The heavy woman in the lead slammed through the doors and headed straight for her son, who was wailing loudly and looking as if he were about to hit Mary, who, in her sapphire blue party dress, was cowering in a corner. "What on earth is going on?" Elizabeth exclaimed.

Charles, however, didn't need any prompting. He was already screaming at his mother what had happened. "She peeked!" Charles screamed, "She peeked at the present!"

His mother tried to sooth him but it was to no avail. "Sweetums, how do you know she peeked?"

"Because! She thanked me for the doll, and we haven't opened the presents yet! She looked! Its no fair, its supposed to be a surprise and now she knows! I didn't even want to get her anything, and now she peeked and it's no fun! I want to go home!"

Charles' mother turned her head sharply and addressed Elizabeth coldly: "Elizabeth, I think you're daughter owes my son an apology. That wasn't a respectful thing at all to do"

"But I didn't!" Mary's tinkling voice broke in, but it quickly vanished when all eyes turned to her.

"What, girl?" Charles' mother demanded, "Speak up!"

Mary looked positively terrified. She clenched her hands together, shuffled her feet, and wouldn't meet anyone's eye when she said, "I didn't peek. I swear I didn't, Mother! I just… guessed." And with that, Mary sat down on the floor and would talk no more.

Elizabeth tried to maintain any sense of decorum. "Well, there you have it. She says she didn't peek, and my daughter does not lie. Charles is just getting worked up over nothing."

The blonde woman turned to Elizabeth, "Well, Elizabeth. How would she know what Charles had gotten her had she not seen it before?"

Elizabeth had no immediate answer to this. She could never admit to these preening peacocks that her daughter had an uncanny and unsettling knack for correctly predicting things. No, that was something that never left this house.

"Perhaps, well… perhaps she heard us talking about it. You know how loud you can be, Charlotte, when you get excited." She was grasping at straws, she knew, and she was bound to have offended the beefy woman.

Charlotte huffed up and said, "Now Elizabeth. They were across the house in a play room filled with screaming, laughing children. I'm the first to admit I can get… loud… but I am by no means _that_ loud. No, that's impossible. I'll tell you what happened. Your daughter got overly greedy and decided to look at what she had gotten before it was time to open the presents. Then she felt guilty and tried to thank my Charles ahead of time so she wouldn't anymore."

There was a loud commotion outside the door, and then all the men came in, Nicholas in the lead. "Darling, what's going on here?"

Quickly, Elizabeth briefed him on the situation and asked him what to do under her breath.

Nicholas cleared his throat and addressed the guests. "It seems the only way to find out is to look at the presents and see if one of them has been opened. Where are they being held?" This last bit he directed at the nurse, who until now had been standing quietly in the background, amused by the chaos that had exploded so suddenly.

She nodded her head to the left, "Over there, sir. There've not been any of the children even near there, though. I'd stake a month's pay on it, sir."

Nicholas gave her a curt nod and said, "Well, we shall see about that!" He rushed over to the door that lead to the adjoining room, where presents were stacked high on a table. One by one they went through the presents, but not one had been torn or opened. "Well, there's that. I know my Mary is intelligent, but I don't think any seven year old could managed to open a present without ripping the paper, and then rewrap it perfectly."

Charlotte seemed to expand as she prepared an assault. "Then, how could she possibly have known?"

Elizabeth looked at her husband in horror. Alice's...talent… had come about again. She said the first thing that came to mind. "I don't know, Charlotte. I'm very sorry if your son hasn't had a good time. Maybe it would be best to end the party right now?" At this nearly every child in the room began to fuss, and soon cries ran through the air.

The head of every mother turned disdainfully towards Elizabeth as she ran to her child and tried to console them with promises of activities and treats. Nobody noticed the blank look that had come over little Mary's face, or the terror that was building in her eyes. The cute blonde dried her daughter's tears as she told her, "Don't worry, darling. We can go play at the lake when we get home!"

A blood curdling scream made everyone turn their heads. Mary was lying in the fetal position, rocking back and forth, sobbing, with her eyes darting back and forth. She was utterly terrified, anyone could see that, and she babbled, "No! Don't go into the water! Please don't… please… please… there's death in the water! Don't go in! No, please. Don't die!" And with that, the poor thing fainted.

Every eye turned towards Nicholas and Elizabeth. Nicholas quickly rushed forward and scooped his daughter into his arms, and made for the door. "Everyone, I thank you for coming today, but as you can see, Mary is quite tired and isn't up to any more activity today. Again, thank you. It's been a blessing having you here as guests." Then he rushed out the door, and took little Mary to her room. Elizabeth quickly showed everyone out, again and again repeating her thanks and regret, and then hurried upstairs, her rage finally showing, to confront her husband.

"I knew it! I knew we should have never thrown her that party! Look what happened, Nicholas! If you had just listened to me, just valued my opinion for once, we wouldn't be in this jam!" She would have gone on, but Nicholas silenced her with a sharp look.

"Now, see here, Elizabeth! How was I supposed to know what would happen? Mary has apparently not had enough sleep, she's hallucinating. That was all that happened. That Charles is as spoiled as they come, you know that. Mary simply did something to offend him, and in his temper he frightened her out of her wits!"

Elizabeth's temper flared once more. "Hallucinating? Not enough sleep? Oh, come on, Nicholas! You know exactly what happened! She did it again!"

Nicholas's temper showed its head as well. "Did what, Elizabeth?"

"She had one of her… her… visions! Devil sent, probably. Nicholas, what are we going to do? Her _problem_ shamed us today! How can you go to the office? How can we go to any parties, bring her anywhere? Every time someone sees her, they'll think of today. When they see us, all they'll think is, "Those people are the parents of a freak!"

Nicholas did something he and his wife never thought he'd ever do; he slapped Elizabeth across the face. "Enough of that!" he roared, "Mary is our child! Why can't you love her? How can you say such horrible things about a baby you yourself brought into the world? What happened to you Elizabeth?"

His words stung infinitely more than the blow had. As tears welled in her eyes, she tore the hat from her hair and threw it at him. "Fine, Nicholas. If she means that much to you, then do what you will. She robbed us of any other children we might have had; normal children, Nicholas! But hear me now! If anything of this sort happens again, you'll have to choose; me or her."

She would have ran out of the room that minute, if Mary had not popped her head through the doorway, her features composed once more, and quietly asked, "Mommy, what will you name my baby sister?"


	3. Facing the Truth

The late afternoon sun was beginning to set in Biloxi, Mississippi. Though night was fast approaching, the air was still hot and thick with humidity. The white washed Victorian house that sat at the forefront of a large plantation was tainted red-gold by the dying light. In the shadow of the wraparound porch sat a beautiful woman with hair the color of sunset, a raven-haired child at her feet. The woman was rocking in her chair, humming to herself as she continued to embroider a white lacy pillow, which she rested on her stomach, large and round with pregnancy. Her ivory skin was pleasantly flushed and slightly pink, and her temper was better than it had been in years. She even gave the child at her feet a loving squeeze every now and then. Yes, Elizabeth was happier than she had been in a long time. She need only wait another two months or so before she had another darling child to hold and cuddle.

The child was happier than she had been as well. Little Mary Alice, so taciturn and withdrawn, had begun to take to her mother in a way she never had before. She sat at her mother's feet, sometimes playfully picking at her dress, sometimes playing with her dolls. She cooed softly and let her young imagination take hold as she imagined life in the future; a baby sister to play with, a mother that wasn't afraid of her, a father home more often. Life, little Mary surmised, would be better.

True, Elizabeth thought, the way in which she found out she was pregnant was a bit of a shock. Just when Elizabeth had presented her husband, Nicholas, with an ultimatum, little Mary, who Elizabeth had continually perceived as a blight on their otherwise perfect life together, had popped her head out around her bedroom door and asked what her baby sister would be named. Elizabeth remembered her and Nicholas turning, shocked, to stare at Mary until the girl, uncomfortable with being stared at, withdrew back into her room.

At first Elizabeth had refused to believe it, refused to grasp on to the little shred of hope that was waving its glorious self in her face. After all, Mary's episodes weren't always factual. But as the weeks went by, Elizabeth failed to have her womanly time. She brushed it off to stress; she still couldn't believe. Then another month went by without any sign. The hope was beginning to seep into her brain, permeating her thoughts like a gas leak, albeit, a happy one.

About that time the sickness came. She'd lay in bed all day, waiting for the sudden nausea to hit her like a blow to the stomach. She'd lean over and start retching into a pan. During these times, if she tried to stand, she'd faint and fall back into bed.

All of this she hid from Nicholas. She knew that he would jump to conclusions that would only hurt him in the long run. In truth, she hoped that this was a false alarm, that there was no baby, as much as she wished there was. Elizabeth knew her own sanity would break if, instead of being blessed with a rosy haired, green eyed baby, she was given another Mary.

So she kept her mouth shut. She had chicken blood planted on her undergarments, lest he decide to check. She put on her bravest face, and blamed fatigue whenever Nicholas questioned her days spent in bed.

One day, a month later, Nicholas and Elizabeth were preparing to make an appearance at the Christmas party hosted by the owner of the local bank. Nicholas was, naturally, ready before Elizabeth and he sat waiting impatiently in the foyer. "What could be taking this long?" he wondered, "she started getting ready three hours ago." Though, he wasn't particularly annoyed. Ever since the incident three months ago, he'd been reluctant to show any dissatisfaction with Elizabeth. The shame and guilt she had inflicted on him every time she'd laid eyes on him during that whole next month had thoroughly and properly humbled him.

Upstairs, Elizabeth was near having hysterics. "Anna!" she screeched, "Anna, where are you? What's taking so long?" She couldn't believe what was happening. None of her corsets fit. Anna, her faithful maid, could get none of them to lace up. So she'd sent Anna out to find longer lace, but that had been nearly ten minutes ago and Elizabeth could not afford to wait. After the fiasco of a party three months earlier, if they didn't go to this party, they would be forever shamed, dropped from the socialite ring for the rest o their natural lives. Longer, even! Heaven knows, gossip outlives even the oldest people. Crying and cursing everyone who'd be at the party, Elizabeth fretted and paced. Finally, Anna returned.

Empty handed.

Elizabeth couldn't believe it. "Where is the lace, Anna?" she screamed at the poor frightened girl.

"I…I couldn't find any, ma'am," Anna fretted, wringing her apron between her hands. And she couldn't, she really couldn't. She'd looked everywhere. She'd gone to the neighboring houses and asked the servants if they had any, but there seemed to be a shortage of lace throughout the area.

"Couldn't find any?" Elizabeth screamed. "Well, what do you want me to do, Anna? Go to the party with my buttons undone? Because without a corset they won't, you know!" Then the hysterical laughing started, "Well, that's it then, isn't it? We shan't go! Well, what choice do we have? Nicholas can't go without me, and I certainly can't go in this state! We shall be shamed. Permanently. We'll have to let you go, Anna, you know. We won't be able to afford having you, not after Nicholas is forced to quit. No, you'll have to go join a whorehouse or something. Little Mary will work in a factory, as shall I! My poor hands will turn rough, or perhaps I'll lose one in an unfortunate accident! Oh yes, all this shall befall my beloved family, and we'll all fall to ruin. All because you, my dearly devoted maid, couldn't find any lace!"

By this, Anna was in tears, and Elizabeth was near faint. Neither had heard the quiet, soft footed Mary enter. She'd stood watching her mother fret, and it had hurt her little heart. She may not have showed it, but she loved her mother very much, and would do anything to protect her. Stealthily, she walked up behind Elizabeth and pulled at her skirt. "Mother," she started.

Elizabeth cut her off, "Oh, not now. Mommy's busy." She tugged her skirt out of the girls little hands.

Mary stared at the floor for a moment, before starting up again, a little more forcefully than before: "Mommy, please. Just, wear one of your old dresses!"

Elizabeth looked at her in amazement. "My old dresses? Oh, you simple child! The only old dresses I've got are the ones I wore when I was pregnant with you! What would people say? They'd… heavens! They'd think I was pregnant again! "

Mary was steadily gaining her voice, "Then, tell them that you are!"

The wretched hope began to creep along the edges of her mind once again, but Elizabeth stomped it out firmly. "How would you know? You're just a child! You know nothing of things like this!" she screamed, losing her temper. Hysteria caught her as she turned sharply towards her daughter. Nausea started to build and her head started to spin. She saw Mary staring at her through those sapphire blue eyes, full of knowledge that shouldn't have been there. The bile began to rise in Elizabeth's throat and her vision started to blur. Loathing fogged her brain as she reached her hand out to slap Mary across the face. Before her hand made contact, however, the strength in her arm gave way, and it fell limply to her side. Her body began to sway, then her knees gave out and with a gasp, Elizabeth fell to the floor.

Anna rushed past Mary, who stood frozen at the doorway, downstairs to the parlor, where Nicholas sat waiting. "Sir, oh sir. Come quick. Missus Elizabeth has fainted, sir!"

Nicholas was up in a flash. "Fainted?" Within seconds, he was upstairs and running to his wife's apartments. Upon entering her rather large closet, he found little Mary sitting there, Elizabeth's head on her lap. Mary's face was serene as she stroked Elizabeth's copper hair into place.

"Don't worry, Daddy. The baby didn't get hurt."

By the time she finished, Nicholas was gathering Elizabeth in his arms to carry her to bed. "Baby, what baby?" he breathed. He laid Elizabeth down in her bed, turned to Anna and asked, "Anna, would you please run and get the Doctor for us?" Anna nodded her head and rushed downstairs, running to the Doctor's house in a panic for the second time in eight years.

Within fifteen minutes, the Doctor was there. Spectacles on, hair combed in place, his suit and tie immaculate, the Doctor paused briefly to shake Nicholas' hand and exchange niceties. Elizabeth still lay unconscious, oblivious to the panic in Nicholas's eyes, or the concern etched on the face of the doctor, as he pulled her eyelids up, felt the blood pulse on her neck, and gently examined her abdomen. His brow unfurled slightly as he noted the rounded, firmness of her belly.

He sighed and lifted his head. "Well, she'll be fine. Exhaustion is all. Women in your wife's condition shouldn't put themselves under such strain."

By this time Nicholas was utterly confused. "Condition? What… what condition?"

The doctor looked at him with questioning eyes. "What do you mean, 'what condition'? Your wife is near four months pregnant. Surely you knew?"

The news hit Nicholas like a battering ram to the head. A thousand thoughts flew through his mind at once. _Was it true? A baby! Girl or boy? Why did Elizabeth not tell me? Will it put Elizabeth in danger? Mary had known…_This last thought fluttered through his mind more often than any other.

Yes, her birthday had been four months ago. She'd asked about a baby… four months ago. Just now, she said the baby was fine. Could it be true? Had Mary truly known that Elizabeth was pregnant mere days after conception must have happened? No, it couldn't be. Had Elizabeth been right all along? Was their daughter the "freak" Elizabeth had accused her of being so often?

He turned his thoughts from his daughter, and tried to save face in front of the Doctor. "Oh, yes. Of course I knew. I was just… just shocked by what happened. Yes, we've known for a while now. Overjoyed! Yes, Mary will have a little brother or sister. Wonderful, isn't it?"

The Doctor wasn't sure he believed the man, but he didn't question it any farther. A good doctor doesn't pry into the personal life of his patients, after all. "Well," he said, as he stood up and prepared himself to leave, "send word to me when she wakes up. Tell her she needs plenty of bed rest."

Nicholas put on a wide smile, "Oh, yes, of course. Plenty of bed rest. Certainly." And with these flighty reassurances, he showed the Doctor to the door. As soon as the man was gone, Nicholas poured himself a glass of brandy and sank into his favorite armchair, his head reeling. No sooner, however, had the amber liquid wetted his lips than Mary's clear, bell like voice rang from downstairs, "Daddy, Mother's awake!"

Nicholas dried the sweat from his brow and made his way upstairs. Elizabeth was sitting up in bed, staring around in confusion. "Nicholas, what happened?"

With a bright smile, Nicholas sat on the edge of the bed and grasped Elizabeth's hand in his. "My dear, you fainted. The doctor says you're four months pregnant! How come you didn't tell me?"

Elizabeth's eyes widened. "Pregnant? Are you sure?"

Nicholas laughed, "Why, of course he's sure! But, dear, how could you not have known? I mean, shouldn't a woman… know these things instinctually?"

Elizabeth forced a smile and said, "I guess not." Then, after silence had hung over them for a second, she asked, "Do you think it's a boy or a girl?"

Nicholas opened his mouth to answer, but Mary cut him off: "It's a girl!" Her face was lit up, joyous at the fact that her mother would have to face what Mary had been trying to tell her for months now.

For the first time in years, Elizabeth's motherly instinct kicked in, and she beckoned Mary to sit on the bed, at which point she took the slight child in her arms, and kissed her hair. "A girl, is it? Well then, poppet, what should we name her?"

Mary's face went blank for a second, before she answered, "Cynthia!" Elizabeth and Nicholas exchanged looks before Nicholas said, "Cynthia? Well, Mary, I think that's a fine idea! But what about the party?"

Elizabeth smiled and said, "Well, my darling, you'll have to go without me. Tell everybody your beautiful wife is at home and resting, in order to make sure her new baby is as healthy as it can be!"

Yes, Elizabeth remembered fondly, that had been the start of a blessed, peaceful few months. As soon as word had been raised that Elizabeth Brandon was pregnant again, letters full of good wishes and inquiries into health had flooded their home. People seemed to forget the fiasco of a birthday party, and once again accepted the happy couple into their social circle.

The beautiful, young woman reached her arms down and playfully squeezed her daughter around her waist. She was thinking about the years to come, and the happiness they'd bring. She imagined herself forty, with two beautiful daughters married to the richest, most eligible men in the city, sitting back with Nicholas, enjoying the sunset together.

How very false these daydreams turned out to be.


	4. Visions of the Future Visions of Horror

**Sorry it took me so long to update. I'm actually in a school play, which opens last week. Which means I'm at school until 7:30 every night. But, I've been getting an overwhelming amount of pleas for me to update, so I kicked it into high gear. As always, thanks muchos for reading my stories, and all the positive feedback. But more feedback is always appreciated! **

Making this trip so many times a day was something Elizabeth was not going to miss. She gripped the hand rail firmly as she carefully made her way down the stairs, one at a time. Her belly was making it extremely hard to stay balanced.

_Mary never troubled me like this_, Elizabeth thought. Every half an hour or so, she'd have to make her way to the bathroom, which was located outside. _Though, I didn't carry her this long, did I?_

No, she'd given birth to tiny, blue-eyed Mary Alice when she was only six and a half months along. Now, with little Cynthia, she was due any day, and the baby was lying right on her bladder, it seemed.

It was the beginning of December, and frost was sapping the life out of the vegetation. The wooden porch was especially slippery and cold, so Elizabeth made her way across very slowly, planting each foot firmly before moving the other. It usually took her near ten minutes to reach the outhouse, another two to empty her bladder, and ten again to get back inside. These trips happened more often in the middle of the night than in the daylight.

Elizabeth yawned as she made her way out of the outhouse, and back towards the house. Going up the porch steps was always the most difficult part; if you slipped going down, you fell on your back, but if you slipped going up, your stomach hit the stairs. And that was where Elizabeth's precious hope hid away, biding her time before she left the womb to make Elizabeth's life much brighter.

So, Elizabeth used extreme caution while climbing those three or four steps up the porch. She carefully placed each foot as close to the next step as possible, as she gripped the handrail for support.

All this time, up stairs little Mary Alice was tossing and turning in her sleep. Sweat made the silky fine black hair stick to her face, twisted in some pain she saw in her dreams. They were always more like nightmares than anything else, her dreams, yet Mary never once complained. She didn't know any different than the nightmares, so why should she fuss over them?

Her tiny body grew still, and her perfect featured face went blank. She stayed this way for several moments, before…

Downstairs, Elizabeth was just about to undertake the last, steep step when she heard the piercing cry of her daughter, a floor above. Instinctively, Elizabeth threw her head back, towards the origin of a sound, and let go of the handrail in surprise. In doing so, she lost her balance. A startled cry escaped her lips as she tried desperately to grasp the handrail, but it was too late. Elizabeth fell backwards, hitting her back on three steps, her head colliding with the frozen stone walk way with a resounding crack.

Mary, of course, knew what had happened; this was why she had uttered the scream. She vaulted from her little bed and raced down the hallway into her father's room. "Daddy!" she screamed, as her fists closed on the front of his pajamas, and her arms shook the heavy form with all her might. "Daddy, help Mother!"

Nicholas's eyes flew open at once, but he was disoriented and confused. "Mary? What… what's going on?"

Tears poured out of Mary's eyes as she tugged her father's hand towards the door. "Mother fell outside! Help her!" Comprehension seeped through Nicholas's brain. He wrenched his hand away from Mary's and he ran, with all the speed he had, down the big oak stairs and towards the backdoor. He wrenched the thing open, pulling it from its hinges partly, and froze at the sight before him.

Mary had been right. There Elizabeth was, lying half on the stairs, half off, her head bleeding on the walkway, her legs bent on the stairs. The most startling thing, however, was the blood slowly flowing from between her legs. Nicholas stifled a cry of horror as he flew forward towards his unconscious wife. He felt for her pulse and upon finding it, though it was terrifyingly weak, screamed the name of the maid, whose apartments were next to the back door. It took what seemed like an eternity for the maid to show up at the door, "Sir, what's happ- oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" the young woman exclaimed as she laid eyes on the frozen form of the mistress of the house.

Nicholas was still bent over, attending to his wife's bleeding. He didn't look up as he ordered Anna to run to the Doctors house, which she did obligingly. Meanwhile, he scooped his injured wife up in his arms and carried her to his own room, where Mary stood, frozen, where he had left her. He called her name out, and asked her to move. She didn't respond, however, and he didn't wait for her to. When he tried to nudge past her, he bumped into her, and she fell to the floor, without resistance. Nicholas looked down and caught sight of her face; blank and completely void of emotion, Mary's eyes stared straight ahead, with no sign she had even noticed falling. Nicholas hurried his still unconscious wife to the bed, then turned and scooped his tiny, comatose daughter up, and took her into the nursery. By the time he had returned to his room, which was located across the house from the nursery, the maid was back with the faithful doctor, who was busy staunching the flow of blood. Upon his entry, the Doctor turned around from his work, and motioned Nicholas to the bed side.

In one breath, not sparing much time, the Doctor briefed Nicholas on Elizabeth's condition: the blood from her head was from a shallow, clean cut from the impact of her head against the path, though the blood flowing from between her legs was much more serious. "The baby isn't hurt, I don't think. She fell on her back, not her stomach, God be thanked. But it'll be a dangerous business for her, bringing this baby into the world. It's already a miracle she hasn't gone into labor yet, but she will very, very soon, so let's make ready."

Nicholas nodded and followed the Doctor's instructions perfectly. After everything had been prepared, the two men hurried to Mary's side, leaving the maid with Elizabeth. The tiny girl lay just as Nicholas had left her. Her eyes hadn't even closed; Nicholas was reminded of a wax figure.

The doctor ran a series of questions by Nicholas, all of which Nicholas answered as best he could. While the doctor was working on Mary, Nicholas paced to and fro. After the examination, the Doctor turned to Nicolas and began forming some theories as to what was wrong with little Mary. "Shock," he began, "is common in children who witness something truly, well, shocking. Their minds shut…"

Both of the men's heads whipped around as Mary started to whimper and then to move. Her eyes pressed together so firmly, the wrinkles created seemed to reach her eyebrows. She bit her lip till it bled; her hands clutched the bed sheets with an iron like force. Her legs kicked out at invisible beings and her cries began to gain volume.

Nicholas turned towards the Doctor, panic invading his voice, "What's going on?", but the Doctor could not answer. Usually, patients went numb during shock, but Mary seemed terrified, on the edge of hysterics. He had no explanation for it.

No, the Doctor could not have known what was troubling Mary, for it was all in her mind, yet it did not come from her mind. Mary was having visions of what was to come, and those visions were so dark, so horrifying, they were near torture for Mary. She lay there, unable to move, forced to see things she did not even want to imagine; her future, black and dismal; and alone.

The two men were in the midst of trying to arouse Mary from her nightmare, when Anna entered the room, out of breath for running. Her news was urgent: Elizabeth had awakened, and not long after, her water had broken. The baby was on her way and the Doctor was needed immediately. Nicholas insisted on coming too, finally making the choice between his beautiful wife and his troubled daughter. Anna was told to stay behind.

No sooner had the door closed behind the Doctor and Nicholas than Mary's eyes had snapped open. Her hair stuck to her face with sweat, and her eyes were frantic as they searched the room. "Mommy?" she whimpered, as she rubbed her eyes again. In an attempt to calm the girl, Anna went over and hugged her, cooing news about the baby's imminent arrival.

"Your Mommy's going to have another baby now, love. You're to be a big sister in a few hours!" Anna had meant the news to be calming, but it was anything but.

Mary's head whipped around, her eyes widened to unbelievable size as what Anna said soaked into her tiny, though over developed, mind.

Then, Mary let out a shriek so loud; it caused the neighbors to wake. She threw herself out of her bed and raced towards the door. Anna tried to catch her, tried to calm her, but the little girl seemed to have summoned up an incredible speed from nowhere. She was across the house before Anna was down the hall. The door to Nicholas's room was shut and locked, so Mary began to throw herself against the door and scream even more. She uttered words in strings of sentences that didn't make sense. "Mommy… gone… baby… dark…NO!" she'd scream, her tiny frame becoming even more bruised with every assault on the door.

Inside, the midwife and Nicholas were helping Elizabeth to walk around, a method often used to draw the infant out using gravity. The doctor was writing things down, readying some hot water, and monitoring Elizabeth's progress every few minutes or so.

When they first heard the screams and the crashes, Elizabeth almost fell again from surprise. Only Nicholas's strength kept her vertical. The Doctor rushed over and opened the door, right as Mary was running at it again; the result being that the force Mary had been using carried her halfway into the room before she fell, with no door to stop her. "Mary, what in the…" Elizabeth started before a contraction took hold of her body and her face scrunched up in pain. Mary lay still on the floor for a second, before struggling to get up.

The Doctor rushed to the girl's side, helping her up gingerly. Mary had bit her lip in the fall, and blood was beginning to stream out. "What on earth is going on, girl?" the doctor asked briefly. He half let go of her, before grabbing her firmly after she began to sway. Her face had glossed over once more, her eyes rolled back into her head. Only her lips continued to move. Without sound, she seemed to be mouthing several words per second. The Doctor waved his hand in front of her face, he even gave her a tiny slap on the face, but nothing brought her out. He turned to Nicholas and asked, "Nicholas, can you please take your daughter back to her room and stay with her?"

Nicholas's eyes widened and his mouth opened and closed a few times before stating, "Absolutely not. My baby girl is going to be delivered any second and I won't miss it! Mary has these episodes all the time. Let her lie there! She's fine."

One look told the Doctor there was no reason for arguing with the man right now. He nodded his head, had Anna fetch a pillow for the girl, and turned his attentions once more to the woman in labor.

By now, Elizabeth's contractions were worsening. Every couple of minutes, her face would screw over in pain, and she'd have to rely solely on the support of her husband and the midwife to remain standing. The blood had a while ago stopped flowing from between her legs, so the Doctor was hopeful it was going to be a safe delivery.

Meanwhile, images were flashing through Mary's head: first, of a funeral, everyone dressed in black and crying over a woman with porcelain skin and strawberry hair, who lay motionless in a casket. Second, she saw her father holding a baby with green eyes and red hair, cooing softly as Mary sat in a corner, ignored. Then things seemed to go black. She felt cold, and afraid. She was alone, she felt. Then, a burning filled her body; it seemed to flow in ever vein. The pain was incredibly. Mary tried to scream, but she couldn't utter a sound. Then, the images were gone as quickly as they had come.

A child's mind is a simple thing. They relate things to happenings, to explain to themselves what is going on. Mary had just seen her mother's funeral, and her own miserable suffering, and she had also seen baby Cynthia. Now, in Mary's mind, Cynthia became the reason for all of the horrible things to come. It seemed to Mary that once Cynthia was born, Mary's life would never be happy again, and Elizabeth's would cease to exist.

It is with this knowledge that Mary made her next move. Without being noticed by any of the adults, she quietly stood from her makeshift bed, and pointed herself at her mother, who was slowly being led back to bed. Then, with amazing swiftness, she vaulted at her mother, screaming as loud as she could the reasons why she was doing this. Her tiny hands tightened into fists that hit Elizabeth's swollen belly. Again and again, Mary struck Elizabeth, hoping to kill the baby. Even at the size of a four year old, though she was years older, the little girl was strong beyond belief. All the adults were stunned momentarily, and stood frozen, dumbly observing the child beating her pregnant mother, who was gasping and crying for them to help.

Elizabeth was much to weak to simply push Mary away, so she pleaded with the men. After a few seconds, Nicholas threw his arm out and knocked Mary across the face, sending her flying across the room, where she crumpled into a pile.

Elizabeth let out a gasp and a cry of horror as a torrent of blood began to gush from between her thighs. The Doctor swore and quickly led Elizabeth to the bed. Nicholas was horrified. He wasn't sure if he had just killed his first daughter, and he was speechless at the amount of blood that was flowing; there hadn't been half that much when Mary was born and that had almost killed Elizabeth.

The Doctor calmly walked Elizabeth through the procedure. He was doing all he could for her, but her strength was going fast, and he feared the worse.

After hours of tears, sweat and blood, Elizabeth let out one last push, sending out one last gush of blood. Soon, a baby began to cry, and Nicholas hooted for joy. The Doctor handed the baby over to the midwife to be cleaned, but Elizabeth, who was quite faint, whispered her new daughter's name. The midwife turned to show Elizabeth the beautiful new life she had just brought into the world. A half smile flitted across the exhausted woman's face, and she reached her hand up towards the babe.

But it never made it there. With one last, shaky breath, Elizabeth's hand fell back to the bed, never to move again. The eyes widened and stared into nothing, never to see again.

Just like that, Elizabeth Brandon died, at the age of 29; killed by her daughter, who's actions were taken to save her mother's life.


	5. A Choice and a Pledge

Nicholas looked down at the cold, pale body of his wife, not really seeing her. He didn't see the blood that was still flowing; he didn't see the sweat that still covered her brow. All he saw were two clear blue eyes, staring off into nothing. The midwife was drawn back in horror, clutching the baby to her breast. The Doctor had taken off his glasses, and rubbing his eyes, stared despondently at the floor. Behind him, he heard his daughter whimper as she began to regain consciousness.

His Elizabeth was dead. Dead. He couldn't comprehend it; couldn't believe it. The strength in his body seemed to disappear instantly. His legs buckled and he fell to the floor. Realization seeped into his brain and he let out a low moan. He crushed his face against her cold chest, damp with sweat. His shaking hands gripped her clammy ones and the tears finally broke through. The doctor picked up Mary Alice and he and the nurse exited the room quietly, leaving Nicholas alone with his despair.

Several hours later, the Doctor helped a pale and sunken eyed Nicholas back to his room before men came to take the body away. He had not slept, and he would not sleep for another day. His pain consumed him and everything seemed insignificant in comparison. He no longer cared about his daughters. He held no love, nor rage towards either. He no longer cared whether he lived or died. His light and love was gone, and there was nothing left to live for.

Nicholas made his way over to the liquor cabinet, plotting in his head how best to terminate his own life. Hanging? No, too painful. He wanted a quick way out. He looked around frantically, trying to garner some kind of inspiration from his surroundings. When he had about given up, he spotted it.

It was an armoire made of dark cherry wood, a floral patter engraved on the front of each door. But it wasn't the armoire that held the answer for what he so desperately wanted. No, it was what was inside.

For within the antique piece of furniture were four drawers. Inside the top drawer was a hand make oak box. Inside of the box was a bundle of dark red velvet.

And inside the bundle of velvet, there was a handgun.

Nicholas's eyes lit up with the prospect of being with his wife again. Quickly, he crossed over to a small table next to the armoire and poured himself a glass of scotch. He gulped it down quickly, the amber liquid burning his throat. Without another thought, he poured himself a second glass, and then a third, and then a fourth. When he could feel his eyes straining to focus, he stumbled towards the wardrobe. He wrenched open the doors and yanked at the drawer so hard it almost came completely out. He grabbed the oak box and made his way towards the four post bed, breathing hard.

His hands were shaking as he opened up the box and withdrew the velvet bundle. Sitting on the bed, his hands clumsily unfolded the fabric and uncovered the revolver. It had been a gift from Elizabeth, on their first anniversary. He had always suspected she bought it more for her personal safety than for his enjoyment. Nonetheless, the gun was beautiful. The handle was made of ivory, and the barrel was polished silver. The gun was extremely valuable. He hoped that after he was gone, somebody would have the thought to pawn it and use the money for the girls.

Nicholas took a deep breath and slowly laid back across the bed, his feet hanging off the edge of the bed. In his left hand, he held the revolver to his temple, and in his right he clutched Elizabeth's handkerchief. He took a shaky breath, let out a sob and started to count down from ten.

Ten.

His palms started to sweat.

Nine.

His heart pounded.

Eight.

Tears streaked down his face.

Seven.

His whole body started to shake.

Six.

He bit down on his bottom lip to stop the sobs from coming out.

Five.

He wondered vaguely what would happen to the girls.

Four.

His body started to relax, as if it were giving up.

Three.

He said a silent prayer, asking God to forgive him.

Two.

The memory of his wedding was fresh in his mind, Elizabeth's face as detailed as in life.

One.

He smiled in anticipation and began to tense his hand, readying to squeeze the trigger…

And then he dropped the gun, as if it were suddenly hot to touch. Quickly, he sat up, wiping the sweat from his brow. He had heard something, and that something had brought him back. He had heard the shrill cry of the baby.

He gasped aloud as he contemplated what he had been about to do. How could he do that? How could he leave his beautiful baby girl to fend for herself? Elizabeth would have never forgiven him, of that he was sure. He sighed deeply and heaved himself up, still shaking. Yes, he grieved for Elizabeth. He would be grieving for a long time, he knew. But maybe… maybe caring for the baby would help lessen the pain. Yes. He was sure it would. He whispered the baby's name, Cynthia as he knew Elizabeth had wanted to call her, and got to his feet and left the room.

Mary Alice never even crossed his mind.


	6. An Angel and A Devil

**8 Years Later**

"Happy Birthday!"

The small group of people applauded as a little girl with strawberry blonde hair and sea green eyes leaned across an oak table and blew eight candles out. She beamed at the noise and squealed in delight when her father's arms wrapped around her waist and she was lifted into the air. "Happy birthday, sunshine!"

Nicholas set Cynthia down on the ground and smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress that he had created. He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, and then let her run off to grab her presents. He straightened up and watched her rip through the paper Anna had spent so much time on wrapping. He smiled at the little girl's enthusiasm. A cough like a tinkling bell made him turn around.

In the corner, separate from the festivities, sat his other daughter. Mary was fifteen now, almost sixteen. She wore a dress of dark blue, accentuating her sapphire eyes, with a high neck and a laced corset on the outside. Her long, silky black hair was tied up in a tight bun. Around her neck was a string of pearls, and these she touched occasionally as if to make sure they were still there. She was completely absorbed in the book she was reading, or so it appeared. Her eyes weren't moving, however, and she wasn't retaining anything in the book.

Nicholas watched her for a second. He was completely aware of what was happening, and prayed what came next was gentle. After a few moments she gasped, her eyes widening slightly and her rigid posture dissolved as she slumped against the wall she had been sitting against. Nicholas clenched his hands in anticipation, ready to silence her in case her episode put any one in danger, as they had before.

Mary coughed again and whispered, "It's a dollhouse." Across the room, Cynthia was unwrapping the large present that had been sent by her grandparents. The little girl glanced at her older sister before continuing on with tearing the paper. When the last shred was gone, her eyes widened, and she stared at Mary.

It was a dollhouse.

Nicholas crossed swiftly to Mary and gave her a stern look. "Now, Mary," he said in a low whisper, so the others, including the nanny, maid and cook, couldn't hear, "don't do this. Let your sister have her fun. What have I told you about these visions? You need to keep them controlled and most importantly, secret!"

Mary looked at her father with wide, resentful eyes. "Father, I can't help it. I can't control them, they don't work like that."

Nicholas had very little patience for Mary, since the incident so long ago. "You'd better try" he said, and stalked away towards Cynthia. Mary watched him with hurt eyes before turning back to her book.

An hour later, Cynthia was upstairs in her playroom with the nanny, blissfully playing with her new toys. Mary sat in the parlor embroidering a pillow and singing softly to herself. Just as she was putting the finishing touches on a tiny little cottage, the familiar feeling started to creep in. It started like a tingling behind the ears, as if something tiny was crawling along your scalp. Then, the tingling moved deeper and became louder; reverberating through her head until she feared her head would explode. Then, the world fell away around her and she was left to the mercy of her visions.

"No," she thought urgently, "control it. Make it go away! It must go away!" But it was too late. The vision was flowing full force through her head, sending random images into her mind. She saw people, snippets of them. It was as if someone was flipping through a picture book much too fast. She saw a beautiful girl, with blonde hair. A young man with honey blonde hair and a kind expression; now, a woman with curly brown hair, her arms out as if waiting to embrace Alice; a young man with bronze hair and a teenage girl, tanner than the rest, with a timid, yet confident expression; an overgrown man with curly brown hair. All except for the scared teenage girl had the same shade of eyes, a curious golden color. Then, another vision came in and pushed them all away. It was a young man, with curious but guarded eyes, but these were blood red. His light hair fell around his ears, looking windblown. Though his eyes were wary, he was smiling widely, revealing gleaming white teeth. He seemed to shine with light, and Alice felt attracted to him immediately. She found herself wishing he was real. She felt her vision self reaching out towards the heavenly boy, inching closer with every stretch. His hand was almost on hers when the vision changed.

It was no longer the blonde man, but another. His muddy brown hair was cropped short, and his eyes, the same blood red as the one before. Except, where those eyes had been kind, if a little wary, these eyes were wild, calculating and ruthless. The man sized Mary up and the corners of his mouth pulled up in a terrifying smile, his teeth gleaming white. Mary shivered involuntarily and tried to pull herself from the vision, but she couldn't. The man sensed her terror and smiled wider, moving forward slowly. "No!" Mary thought, "Visions don't happen like this!" Her visions were more like images, not real life things. She had never interacted with a vision before, and she didn't know what would happen if she did. Yet, the man continued to move forward until he stood less than a foot from Mary. She tried to move, but she couldn't. Her feet stayed rooted, she couldn't even blink. The man cocked his head to the side, curious, as he raised his left hand, palm up, and held it there. Mary felt her arm start to move of its own accord, until it rested in the hand of the man. She felt a strong tingling, as if her arm had fallen asleep, but no actual pressure from the hand. He stepped back, pulling her hand with him, but she remained rooted. He kept walking, and she wondered how he could be moving so far back with her, as he still held her hand.

Then she realized.

The man was towing a tiny girl, with black hair and a petite figure away from Mary. She couldn't see the girl's face. She wanted to call out, to warn the girl that this man couldn't be trusted, but for what for she didn't know. She tried in vain to call out to the girl, her vocal chords solid and unmoving. Yet, slowly the girl turned to face Mary.

And suddenly she was looking at herself.

It was a phantom Mary with this menacing stranger. She knew that she was till here, rooted to the spot, only in a vision, but yet she could see herself several yards away, could see what was happening.

The man raised the phantom Mary's arm up until it was at the level of his face. He made a motion as if to kiss the exposed wrists, but instead inhaled deeply. He was smelling her wrist, Mary realized. His mouth parted, and a tongue slid out to whet the thin pale lips, which then curled upwards until the man appeared as if he were in mid snarl.

And then he sunk his teeth into her wrist.

Mary felt a sharp pain, and another feeling, almost like burning but very far away it seemed, through her body before the sulfurous odor of smelling salts awakened her.

She opened her eyes lazily and gazed around. Leaning over Mary was her governess, her eyes full of concern. Behind her stood Nicholas, arms crossed with a look of disappointment in his eyes. "You were screaming," He said, "you had spasms for a few minutes, but then you stopped and didn't move until just now."

Mary's face flushed as she tried to haul herself to her feet, only to find out that her legs wouldn't support her. She swayed before her governess steadied her. She strong, older woman led fragile Mary to her room, where she left the girl to be alone with her thoughts.


	7. A Match Made In Something

She saw them again the next night; the blonde beautiful boy and the crazed, evil man. They came to her in her dreams. She couldn't avoid them, she couldn't escape them. Not that she wanted to escape the first. She'd spend all day dreaming of the first. It was almost worth it to see the second. Almost.

One morning, about a week later, she awoke to the sound of a knock on her door. Wrapping her dressing robe around herself, she opened it just enough to see who was calling so early. It was her father, still in his dressing robe, his hair slightly disheveled. She widened the space between the door and the frame and stuck her head between the two, "Yes, father?"

Nicholas looked distinctly uncomfortable as he asked, "Can I come in, darling?" Mary braced herself before opening the door to allow him entry. She didn't know what would happen, but she was sure it wouldn't be pleasant. Silently she wracked her brain for what she might have done to merit such a visit.

Nicholas cleared his throat and crossed to the arm chair in the corner, while Mary sat back down on her bed, waiting patiently. Nicholas's eyes flitted from his daughter to the floor, to the window and back to his daughter. "Mary," he began, still unsure how to begin, "you know I haven't been very… patient with you since… well, since your sister was born." Both squirmed in their seats, neither wanted to approach the subject of Mary's mother. "But, you know, it's all been for your own good. I've been trying to raise you right, to… to keep you marriageable, and…safe. You understand that, don't you?"

Mary kept her eyes on the bed as she answered quietly, "Yes father."

Nicholas seemed to gain slight strength from her quiet conformation, as he cleared his throat again, sat up straighter and continued, "Yes well, you've grown into a fine young woman, you have. It's almost time to think about getting married. Certainly it's time to at least begin forging relationships between yourself and… um… young men of your age." He noted Mary's blush with a slight chuckle and said, "With that in mind, last night I arranged for myself and you to make a call on Mrs. Landings and her son this afternoon."

Mary's breath caught in her chest as she remembered the chubby brunette boy from her childhood. Charles. She remembered him as cruel, a boy who picked on those smaller and weaker than himself to get pleasure. She shivered and asked, "Father, is there no one else?"

Her father chuckled slightly and said, "Now, Mary. You haven't seen the boy since you were ten or so. For all you know he could be soul of kindness. Give him a chance at least? You don't have to marry him today."

Mary hung her head and said, "Yes father."

There was an uncomfortable silence before Nicholas stood up and said, "Well, that's a good girl. I'll see you at breakfast." And with that he left the room.

Mary sat on her bed confused. Marriage? She'd never even thought of marriage. She was only fifteen! The times were changing, a girl didn't have to get married so early. They could go out and work, they could have a life before childbirth and imprisonment on a hearth. Why is it that her social standing and fortune barred her from that?

More importantly, how could she keep a husband, when every day she had an episode? Any sane man would certainly find her to be the opposite. She'd never keep a husband, and then she'd be shamed more deeply than if she remained unmarried. Maybe she'd just scare off the suitors with unladylike behavior? No, that'd hurt her father. She sighed deeply. She'd just have to deal.

The day passed quickly and before she knew it, her governess was rushing to get her ready. She was dressed in a periwinkle satin dress with a high collar and a modern cut. Her hair she had piled up on top of her head and pinned securely. She was stunning, with her big sapphire eyes and her porcelain skin. But she was certain to be uncomfortable the whole time.

Soon, her father and her were riding in the carriage down the lane to the house of the Landings. "Remember, darling," Nicholas started, "be nice, be gracious. They're inviting us into their house, and we must respect them." Mary nodded slightly and let herself be helped from the carriage.

The house belonging to the Landings was a large one, larger than the one Mary and Nicholas occupied. It was easily four stories, with yellow walls and white shutters. A wrap around porch added another bit of comfort. Behind the house stood a few barns, where livestock as well as farming tools. A dirt road led into an orchard of apple trees, and another led to a small pond flocked by weeping willow trees. As she approached, there was a stirring as three or four hunting dogs sounded their warning cries and rushed towards them. Mary, startled, clutched at her father's arm while her father tried to shoo the beasts away from Mary's costly dress.

"Orion! Apollo! Down boys!" a loud booming voice issued from the front of the house. Mary's head whipped up and her mouth dropped slightly when she took in the sight. The speaker was a young man, maybe a couple of years older than Mary. His face was full, fuller than necessary. His grey jacket strained over his rotund stomach, and looked as if a button may shoot off at any moment. His pants were tight across the bottom of his stomach, and created awkward lines and creases around his crotch, and caused his pant legs to be short. Wool socks showed under scuffed shoes. The face was blotchy, his complexion poor. His muddy brown hair was cropped short and displayed the widows peak and shiny crown that denoted his tendency towards baldness. His eyes were beady and a dull brown, his nose was large. He was chewing on something, tobacco perhaps, with his mouth open. Mary felt nauseated.

He squinted into the sun. "Is that you Mr. Brandon? So it is! So, this is Mary? My, I haven't seen you since I was twelve or so. Well, you have grown up quite nicely. Yes, very nicely." His beady eyes took in Mary and made Mary feel as if she were being undressed. She could feel herself perspiring under the yards of heavy fabric as she struggled to find her voice. "Hello, Charles. You're looking well, I'm sure."

Charles's mouth stretched across the expanse that was his face into some resemblance of a smile. "Well, don't stand out in the hot sun! Come in, come in. My mother and father are waiting in the parlor.

Mary took another deep breath and entered the large house, and watched her possible fiancé amble through the hallways.


End file.
